Ah, spring—and how it so naturally, effortlessly inspires poetry! Here's one that arrived just this morning, as I was gazing out my south-facing window, through tender branches, to the majesty of Bear Peak and the Flatirons on the western horizon ... Spring's warm-cool quiet potency: leaf-buds like green haiku, unfolding ... * …
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There Is But One
Easter Rise heart; thy Lord is risen. Sing his praise Without delays, Who takes thee by the hand, that thou likewise With him mayst rise: That, as his death calcined thee to dust, His life may make thee gold, and much more just. Awake, my lute, and struggle for thy part With all thy art. The cross taught all wood to resound his name, Who bore the same. His stretched sinews taught …